Dack marched tall along the well traveled south road. Boots rhythmically tamped down grass brave enough to grow in the cracks between the ancient asphalt. With each step he could feel the rew remaining gulps of water in his pack slosh back and forth. Each shifting patch of ground echoed the rustle of a hundred pairs of dusty leather boots.
Two hours ago the column stopped to rest for five minutes. The memory of water and rations made Dack lick his cracked lips reflexively. Legion training had made this easier than it would have been for anyone else. Dack was used to long walks, his patrol route along the wall toughened his heels and made him sure of footing. But seven hours of marching at a full pace was enough to make the perimeter walk feel like an evening stroll. He took a shallow breath and looked down at black paving patches.
The road that Dack found himself marching down had a storied history; during the war it had been a primary distribution route for aid dispatches to Wisconsin, when the war ended the travellers changed but the road stayed the same, reinforced for the weight of troop transports and military vehicles.
Dack grinned and squinted past the setting sun at the horizon, in the distance sat the squat and stern walls of the Green Valley Waystation. Blurry figures dutifully patrolled the top of each stone wall. In his mind's eye, Dack pictured the weapons they surely rested on each shoulder. Guns. Real Guns. Unlike the eroded and overused training rifles in the academy, and nothing like the hand assembled crossbows - the ‘Scrapshots’ that every Legionnaire carried on their back. He could already smell the gunpowder and feel the recoil. Now that was power. He could hardly wait for his tour at Penance Mines.
The Green Valley Waystation felt good to look at, even from a distance it felt sturdy. Dack saw everyone relax the slightest bit, just knowing that their day’s walk was nearly over. High walls, made from the reclaimed metal of flatbed trucks, gates of fresh unrusted steel. As they drew closer, the guard on watch called out to them.
“Who goes there?”
The more experienced Legionnaires laughed, but the response was still echoed out in chorus regardless.
“The Legion of Phanes. Bound for Penance Mines”
To the older Legionnaires, this chant took an almost songlike quality. A well practiced call and response that heralded an end to their march, and most important of all: a hot meal. At ease, the men and women of the company filtered their way inside the compound. Several tents of varying sizes dotted the hard trodden dirt. The largest one nearly as large as one of the buses that made up part of the retaining wall and issuing from it were the raucous sounds of soldiers at dinner. The scent of beef stew permeated the camp, and made Dack’s mouth water.
He felt his earring absentmindedly, the smells of dinner had reminded him of soft nights with Vance. He had always made stew for his boyfriend on the rare occasions that he could pry himself away from his engineering work. Dack sighed, it would be at least another two seasons before he would see Vance again. Deployments to the mines were long, and there was no guarantee that another shift would be able to relieve them before the deep wisconsin winter snows made travel impossible.
Alongside his comrades, Dack turned his back on the mess hall and set about making camp for the night. For five agonizing minutes, the grassy patch near the gate was a blur of small hammers and cow hide tents as every soldier scrambled to have their tent finished so that they might be the first in line for the second round of stew. After dinner however, the camp stilled. Rest would be necessary for the march tomorrow especially if they were going to be able to make it to Penance before noon. Before the last embers had died in the campfires, Dack had drifted off to sleep.
Morning came far too soon in Dack’s opinion, and through the morning haze; camp was struck, breakfast was eaten, and the marching lines were out the gates. By the time Dack felt well and truly awake they had already passed the soldiers they were replacing and arrived at Penance Mines proper. Rubbing his eyes, he stared up at the tall yellow and brown machine at the center of the camp. As it’s long arm bent and rotated, Dack followed the movement down to a slightly swaying slab of stone easily the size of a carriage. Inside the glass cockpit of this wondrous device sat the vague shape of a man in overalls, the operator. Far below the man were the tiered pits that made up the mine, blue gravel and grey silt lined each floor and spilled out from the walls in massive dunes. Working in teams around the dunes were groups of ten men and women, all chained together and all wearing bleached white robes.
Dack had never seen prisoners before, and he regarded them from above with some trepidation. He knew from schooling that these criminals had forfeited their self determination by committing the worst crimes possible: shirking work, sabotaging industrial projects, telling secrets to Outsiders, and even abandoning your post as a Legionnaire. These people, had for some reason decided that they would not work for the betterment of human society and had placed their own selfish desires above that of the city of Phanes. For the crime of selfishness, they would be forced to be selfless. Breaking rocks to provide the gravel and crushing gravel to provide the sand. All for the water filters. It was a poetic justice, Dack thought, looking down at them. And it was an honorable job to keep them from straying from their path of penance.
It was his job to watch and protect them.He hoped that someday, they would be grateful.
Two hours ago the column stopped to rest for five minutes. The memory of water and rations made Dack lick his cracked lips reflexively. Legion training had made this easier than it would have been for anyone else. Dack was used to long walks, his patrol route along the wall toughened his heels and made him sure of footing. But seven hours of marching at a full pace was enough to make the perimeter walk feel like an evening stroll. He took a shallow breath and looked down at black paving patches.
The road that Dack found himself marching down had a storied history; during the war it had been a primary distribution route for aid dispatches to Wisconsin, when the war ended the travellers changed but the road stayed the same, reinforced for the weight of troop transports and military vehicles.
Dack grinned and squinted past the setting sun at the horizon, in the distance sat the squat and stern walls of the Green Valley Waystation. Blurry figures dutifully patrolled the top of each stone wall. In his mind's eye, Dack pictured the weapons they surely rested on each shoulder. Guns. Real Guns. Unlike the eroded and overused training rifles in the academy, and nothing like the hand assembled crossbows - the ‘Scrapshots’ that every Legionnaire carried on their back. He could already smell the gunpowder and feel the recoil. Now that was power. He could hardly wait for his tour at Penance Mines.
The Green Valley Waystation felt good to look at, even from a distance it felt sturdy. Dack saw everyone relax the slightest bit, just knowing that their day’s walk was nearly over. High walls, made from the reclaimed metal of flatbed trucks, gates of fresh unrusted steel. As they drew closer, the guard on watch called out to them.
“Who goes there?”
The more experienced Legionnaires laughed, but the response was still echoed out in chorus regardless.
“The Legion of Phanes. Bound for Penance Mines”
To the older Legionnaires, this chant took an almost songlike quality. A well practiced call and response that heralded an end to their march, and most important of all: a hot meal. At ease, the men and women of the company filtered their way inside the compound. Several tents of varying sizes dotted the hard trodden dirt. The largest one nearly as large as one of the buses that made up part of the retaining wall and issuing from it were the raucous sounds of soldiers at dinner. The scent of beef stew permeated the camp, and made Dack’s mouth water.
He felt his earring absentmindedly, the smells of dinner had reminded him of soft nights with Vance. He had always made stew for his boyfriend on the rare occasions that he could pry himself away from his engineering work. Dack sighed, it would be at least another two seasons before he would see Vance again. Deployments to the mines were long, and there was no guarantee that another shift would be able to relieve them before the deep wisconsin winter snows made travel impossible.
Alongside his comrades, Dack turned his back on the mess hall and set about making camp for the night. For five agonizing minutes, the grassy patch near the gate was a blur of small hammers and cow hide tents as every soldier scrambled to have their tent finished so that they might be the first in line for the second round of stew. After dinner however, the camp stilled. Rest would be necessary for the march tomorrow especially if they were going to be able to make it to Penance before noon. Before the last embers had died in the campfires, Dack had drifted off to sleep.
Morning came far too soon in Dack’s opinion, and through the morning haze; camp was struck, breakfast was eaten, and the marching lines were out the gates. By the time Dack felt well and truly awake they had already passed the soldiers they were replacing and arrived at Penance Mines proper. Rubbing his eyes, he stared up at the tall yellow and brown machine at the center of the camp. As it’s long arm bent and rotated, Dack followed the movement down to a slightly swaying slab of stone easily the size of a carriage. Inside the glass cockpit of this wondrous device sat the vague shape of a man in overalls, the operator. Far below the man were the tiered pits that made up the mine, blue gravel and grey silt lined each floor and spilled out from the walls in massive dunes. Working in teams around the dunes were groups of ten men and women, all chained together and all wearing bleached white robes.
Dack had never seen prisoners before, and he regarded them from above with some trepidation. He knew from schooling that these criminals had forfeited their self determination by committing the worst crimes possible: shirking work, sabotaging industrial projects, telling secrets to Outsiders, and even abandoning your post as a Legionnaire. These people, had for some reason decided that they would not work for the betterment of human society and had placed their own selfish desires above that of the city of Phanes. For the crime of selfishness, they would be forced to be selfless. Breaking rocks to provide the gravel and crushing gravel to provide the sand. All for the water filters. It was a poetic justice, Dack thought, looking down at them. And it was an honorable job to keep them from straying from their path of penance.
It was his job to watch and protect them.He hoped that someday, they would be grateful.